


Scraps of Starlight

by cinderstorm



Category: October Daye Series - Seanan McGuire
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble Collection, Gen, requests welcome, will tag characters as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 12:01:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 6,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderstorm/pseuds/cinderstorm
Summary: Stories need not revolve around daring rescues and lost princesses to be worth telling. Some can be captured in the pause between two breaths, while others may be glimpsed as stars in the constellations of greater stories. A few may even revolve around such mundane feats as doing laundry or learning how to operate a cell phone.Alternatively: a collection of drabbles spanning the entirety of the October Daye series, featuring characters both major and minor in situations ranging from grim to heartwarming to amusing. Three drabbles per chapter. Requests welcome.





	1. Chapter 1

1\. Grief

 

Two months pass before Li Quin visits Jan’s office.

“I haven’t gone in,” Elliot confesses, wringing his hands. “I figured you’d want to see it before . . .”

_Before I clean it,_ he doesn’t say. Li Quin nods in understanding. “I won’t be long.”

Stepping across the threshold is like stepping through a fun-house mirror. Monitors that once glowed with lines of code show empty screens. The computers connected to them lay quiet, their omnipresent hum absent—removed from the network, as April would say.

Li Quin doesn’t weep. She simply closes the door and falls into the silence.

 

 

2\. By Candle’s Light

 

“Just a little farther,” August whispers, cradling the stub of the candle in her hands. Broom and bracken tickle her calves, stirred by the crisp breeze of Annwn. She’s close now, her journey nearly over.

The candle gutters, its frail light wavering dangerously. August holds her breath as another drop of wax rolls onto her palm. “Please, just a little farther,” she says, and her voice is that of a little girl, not the hero she is so desperate to be. She takes another step, trembling, each breath shallow and soft. “Please . . .”

The wind does not answer.

 

 

3\. Into the Dawn

 

Jazz crouches at the edge of the rooftop, the morning light pouring across her shoulders as she waits for the pressure of dawn to pass. It’s a risk, being out in the open, but it’s early yet, and this corner of the roof is sheltered from the neighbors’ windows. She soaks in the warmth, counting her breaths until the ache of burning magic subsides. She loves the dawn, even if it doesn’t love her. Such is the way of those who live in daylight.

Refreshed, she stretches her arms into wings and takes flight, the sun warm on her feathers.


	2. Chapter 2

4\. A Most Precious Thing (200)

 

Dianda stares into the cradle, worry knotting in her heart. “He’s so small.”

It’s a foolish statement. All infants are small. If they weren’t, giving birth would be an even greater ordeal than it is. But there’s a difference between knowing a thing and _seeing_ it. One is a fact; the other, a terrifying reality.

“You can hold him, you know,” Patrick says, and she knows that, of course she does, but . . .

But she is not gentle. Gentleness is precious as pearl and twice as rare in the Undersea. It is a luxury she cannot afford. “What if I hurt him?”

“You won’t.”

“What if we can’t protect him?”

“You are the most dangerous woman I know,” Patrick says, in a way that means _I love you_. “I pity the fool who tries to harm him.”

In the cradle, Dean grasps at her with clutching hands. Hesitantly, Dianda reaches into the cradle, letting him grab her fingers. His grip is strong, surprisingly so.

“I would wreck a thousand ships for you,” she tells him. “I would drown the world to keep you safe, and no one would be able to stop me.”

Beside her, Patrick smiles.

 

 

5\. Fog

 

Marlis stands before her king, lost in a fog of her own creation.

“Send a missive to Starfall,” he says, and she obeys, recording his words without hearing them.

“Prepare the hall for a banquet,” he orders, and she obeys, because it does not occur to her to do otherwise.

“Check the ledgers,” Rhys demands, and she obeys. The fog doesn’t lift, but sometimes it thins enough for her to rebel, even if she can’t remember why she must. Those moments are a distant lighthouse, guiding her toward shore. _Soon,_ she tells herself _._

She can’t remember what she’s waiting for.

 

 

 

6\. Small Favors (200)

 

“Try this blend,” Walther says, pressing the jar of faerie ointment into Marcia’s palm.

She eyes the glittering gel doubtfully before spreading it underneath her eyes. “I think it . . . _might_ be a little better?” She risks a glance up at Walther’s face. “I can see the illusion-shimmer.”

“Hmm. Not precisely what I was looking for.” Grimacing, he hands her another jar. “What about this one?”

She wipes her eyes and applies a coat of the new stuff, gasping when the illusion-shimmer resolves into the sharper Tylwyth Teg features beneath. “I can see you!”

She claps her hand over her mouth, afraid she’s offended him with her exuberance—growing up as a changeling has taught her caution, if nothing else—but Walther beams. “Excellent.”

As he gathers up his kit, Marcia glances at the jar in her hands. “Would it all right if I kept this?”

“Hmm? Oh, certainly. Once I’ve refined the recipe a bit, I’ll whip up a larger batch to carry you through the next few months.”

Marcia bites back a forbidden _thank you_ before it can escape, opting to curtsy instead. “Open roads.”

Walther inclines his head, his electric blue eyes twinkling. “Kind fires.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could write a dozen drabbles about the Ames family, but for now, let's settle for three.

7\. Changeling Child

 

“Mommy, I’m hungry.”

Bridget stirs, dreams dissolving like candy floss. “Okay, sweetie.” She swings her legs over the edge of the bed, mind syrupy with fatigue. It takes her a moment to notice the too-sharp angles of her daughter’s face, the slant of her ears.

Her ears.

Bridget stands so fast her vision blurs.

Chelsea frowns, her eyes (glittering, impossible copper) shining with concern. “Mom?”

_This isn’t real._ _This. Isn’t. Real._

(It is).

Bridget takes a breath. Lets it out. She is a mother, and mothers have responsibilities. Discussions can come later. For now . . . “How about pancakes?”

 

 

8\. Phone Call

 

“Sir Etienne, you have a call from a mortal line.”

Etienne lowers his sword (blunted for training, to avoid accidents). “Name?”

“Bridget Ames.”

His body freezes even as his mind jolts into frantic activity. Bridget, calling the number he gave her for emergencies. Bridget, sixteen years gone from his life, calling _him._ Etienne teeters on the edge of fainting, then dismisses it as undignified.

“I see.” Then, numbly, “Which line?”

“Line two.”

“All right.” He sheaths the sword. Sketches a portal in the air so he can take the call in his chambers. Lifts the receiver to his face. “Bridget?”

 

 

9\. Frying Pan

 

“I’m keeping the frying pan.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“It’s made of _iron_!”

“I know! That’s why I bought it!”

“You are not keeping the frying pan.”

“Oh, is that what you think?”

Quentin leans over from his seat on the sofa, tearing his eyes from the confrontation long enough to watch Chelsea pop another handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Are your parents always like this?”

Chelsea contemplates the question, then proceeds to _lick the cheese from her fingers_ as Bridget waves the frying pan at Etienne’s face. Quentin shudders. “No,” Chelsea says at last. “Usually there’s more shouting.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

10\. Bloodstains (200)

 

“I think this one is a loss,” Quentin says to May, eyeing the splotch of dried blood on the blouse he’s just pulled out of the laundry basket.

“Oh, I remember that one. Toby got shot trying to solve Evening’s murder. Or not-murder, I guess, since she’s still alive.” May wrinkles her nose. “Keep it for now. Toby might want it as a backup.”

Dutifully, Quentin folds the blouse and plucks another garment from the basket—a pair of sweatpants, flecked with blood. “What about these?”

“Not sure. Might not be hers—the blood, I mean. The pants are definitely Toby’s.”

“Right.” He folds them up—they’re salvageable, unlike the blouse—and lays them over the armrest. “And this one?” he asks, indicating a T-shirt with several ugly tears in the front.

“Gutted by one of the Cait Sidhe during Samson’s attempted coup.” May frowns, looking at him. “Weren’t you there for that?”

“I try not to think about it too much. Toby can be . . .”

He lets the sentence dangle, unwilling to finish it, but May nods in understanding. “She’s not looking for a way to die anymore. That’s something, at least.”

“Yeah,” Quentin murmurs. “That’s something.”

 

 

11\. A Different World

 

It’s midnight when Bridget spies a familiar face among the crowd. She seizes Etienne’s hand. “Is that Professor Davies?”

Etienne stiffens, then relaxes as he follows her gaze. “That’s Walther Davies, yes.”

“He’s a . . .”

“Tylwyth Teg, yes. Are you all right?”

It’s jarring, discovering one of her colleagues isn’t human. Not as jarring as discovering her daughter wasn’t human, but still. “Overwhelmed, I suppose.” Distantly, she wonders how many fae she’s met, never knowing they belonged to a different world.

“Would you like to speak with him?”

“Yes. Yes, I believe that would be just the thing.”

 

12\. Transplant

 

“Please,” the dryad cries, sap rolling down her cheeks. January’s heart twists as she notices the splintered branch clutched in the girl’s arms. “It’s from my tree, _please—_ ”

“All right.” January drags the dryad toward Tamed Lightning’s main entrance, thoughts racing. Can she transplant the branch? Unlikely—trees come from saplings or seeds, not branches. But there must be some way to restore the tree.

_Tree. Data tree_. The idea hits her like a thunderclap. It doesn’t matter if it’s impossible. She’s out of better options. “I know how to save you,” she says, and hopes she isn’t lying.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one drabble this time, but it's a long one (relatively speaking), so hopefully that makes up for it.

13\. An Unexpected Visitor (400)

 

The crunch of tires over sand-dusted asphalt draws the Luidaeg’s attention like blood in the water. She rises, setting aside a weathered paperback as she peers through the window. Across the street, a yellow VW Bug rattles to a halt and disgorges a lean figure with dull brown hair.

_Well, well._ The Luidaeg’s mouth curves into a vicious smile. _This should be entertaining._

She twists her hands through the air, casting cobwebs of illusion over her apartment. There’s an art to playing the immortal sea witch, after all, and anyone fortunate—or foolish—enough to come to her a second time ought to appreciate her dedication to the role. Within moments, the apartment’s simple furnishings take on a moldering cast, damp and discolored, and the reek of rotting fish overlays the cleaner scent of seawater. By the time her visitor plucks up the nerve to knock, the only illusion left to spin is one of tone.

“What?” she demands, practically ripping the door off its hinges.

Across the threshold, Toby flinches, holding a plain paper bag in front of her like a shield. “I brought doughnuts.”

The Luidaeg stares. “What?”

“They’re sea-salt caramel.” Toby’s eyes don’t stray from her face, but she apparently finds the Luidaeg's blank stare encouraging: the tension seeps from her shoulders, like she actually believes a sack of pastries will keep her from being gutted. It’s the sort of idiocy the Luidaeg should have expected from Amandine’s daughter, but it catches her off-guard anyway.

“Come in, then,” she says. Toby steps across the threshold, the carpet squelching under her feet. The Luidaeg raises an eyebrow, waiting to see if she’ll be stupid enough to mention it, but Toby remains resolutely silent.

“So what’s the occasion? Here to ask your last question?”

Toby shakes her head. “Not today.”

“Then what do you want?” she asks, trying not to let on how much she’s enjoying this. It’s not often someone gets the better of her, and novelty grows precious after you’ve watched a few dozen civilizations rise and fall.

“I thought we could play chess.”

The Luidaeg eyes her narrowly, noting the careful phrasing. She could still twist it into a request, but she tries not to warp people’s words like that unless they _really_ piss her off. “Fine,” she says, holding up a finger. “On one condition.”

Toby stills. “Yes?”

“I get first pick of the doughnuts.”


	6. Chapter 6

14\. Endearment (200)

 

Tybalt slows as they near the door. “I can’t go any further than this, I’m afraid,” he says, making an elegant gesture toward the wards.

“Hmm? Oh, right.” October muddles through a snippet from “The Cat and the Fiddle,” voice slurred with alcohol.

Tybalt lifts an eyebrow. “Nursery rhymes?”

“They work.”

“Even so. The key?”

October blinks, befuddled, then rummages through her purse until her fingers chance upon a simple brass key. Tybalt plucks it from her hand and unlocks the door.

“M’gonna go to bed,” she says.

“How uncharacteristically wise of you.” He guides her to the bedroom, where a pair of cats curl upon her pillow. At Tybalt’s stern glance, they move aside, but by then October is already lost in slumber, his leather jacket drawn close around her body.

“Try not to ruin my coat,” he says, wishing he had it in him to be annoyed rather than charmed. “Your wardrobe is offensive enough without unnecessary bloodstains.”

She offers no response, so he slips her shoes off her feet and sets them on the nightstand beside her purse. That done, he withdraws into the shadows, pausing only for one last scrap of sentiment. “Sleep well, little fish.”

 

 

 

15\. Playmate (200)

 

“Gilly, look who’s here!”

Gillian abandons her bucket of chalk, running toward Sylvester as he emerges from his car. He swings her in a wide circle, beaming. “Look at you! You’re almost as tall as me!”

“Not yet, she isn’t.” Toby scoops Gillian into her arms. “Hey, Sylvester.”

“Toby.” His smile warms. “I brought a playmate for Gillian.”

Toby tenses, then relaxes as Rayseline slides out of the backseat, features blunted beneath a human disguise. She waves shyly at Gillian. “Hello.”

Gillian waves back with chalk-dusted fingers. “I’m Gilly. Wanna play?”

With scarcely a backward glance, Raysel follows Gillian to the sidewalk, where Gillian immediately starts telling her about her drawing. Toby turns to Sylvester. “Will her disguise hold?”

“I wove it myself,” Sylvester assures her. “Apologies for the intrusion. Raysel overheard you talking about Gillian, you see.”

“It’s fine. It’s just . . .”

“You don’t want to let on about Faerie. I understand.” Sylvester eyes their children soberly. “I think they could be friends, if . . .”

“If Gillian Chooses Faerie.”

“She may not have to Choose,” Sylvester says. “She may be human enough.”

“I hope so,” Toby whispers, chest tight with worry. “I really hope so.”

 

 

 

16\. A Little Pick-Me-Up

 

Arden leans against the balustrade, alone save for the redwoods. It’s been a long day, full of politicking; this is the first moment she’s had to herself since she woke—the first since she became queen, maybe.

It doesn’t last. A door opens nearby. Arden pastes on her best customer service smile, then sags against the railing. “Madden.”

“Hey.” He hands her a mug topped with whipped cream and cinnamon. “You looked like you could use a pick-me-up.”

The tension bleeds out of her shoulders; she takes a greedy gulp of cocoa. “You’re a good friend, Madden.”

Madden simply smiles.


	7. Chapter 7

17\. Fragile

 

Raysel’s dinner tray clatters against the wall with enough force to chip stone. “I hate this!”

Grianne winces, her Merry Dancers winking in distress. Beside her, Etienne clenches his jaw. But neither of them intervene. Fragile as Raysel is right now, an invasion of her chambers might provoke another fit.

“Is there no way to help her?” Etienne whispers. Grianne’s Merry Dancers pulse with sympathy. Raysel’s return should have been a cause for celebration. Instead, it’s brought only a fresh source of grief.

“Time.” It’s a dim reassurance, but it’s all Grianne can offer.

She doubts it will be enough.

 

 

 

18\. Gifts

 

May holds the chimes up to the window, admiring the rainbows the faux crystals scatter across the wall. “Hey, is it cool if I hang this out here?” she asks as Toby wanders in from the kitchen. “The lighting’s better.”

“If you want. Jazz leave that for you?”

“Yep.” May pauses, considering. “Do you think it’s a Raven-May thing? Collecting shiny stuff, I mean.”

“Could be. Tybalt brings me dead mice sometimes.”

May whips around. “ _Really_?”

“No,” Toby admits. “He sometimes threatens to disembowel people, though.”

“How sweet.”

“We have an interesting relationship,” Toby says, but her smile is soft.

 

 

 

19\. An Enchanted Collection

 

“There,” Toby says, laying the jar in the box. “Princess returned, banishment averted, and one more bauble for the collection.”

“Do you think the Luidaeg offers store credit?” Quentin asks. “Like, could we trade all this for another favor?”

Toby eyes the box’s contents thoughtfully: the remains of a candle, a serpent scale, a charm enchanted to find wayward Tuatha, and now a jar of fireflies from Annwn. “Better not. She might see it as an insult. I’d like to keep my entrails where they belong.”

“For once,” Quentin mutters.

Toby swats him with her fingers. “Go clean your room.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, though, what happens to whatever's left of the Luidaeg's gifts after each adventure? Does Toby keep them? Are they sitting in a box, waiting to reappear in a later book? I mean, sure, some of them are single-use, but what about the ones that aren't? I have Questions about this.


	8. Chapter 8

20\. Migraines

 

The rattle of a dozen boxes of aspirin hitting the belt jolts the cashier from his determined apathy. He stares at Toby in disbelief. “Uh . . .”

Forcing a smile only worsens the pounding in her skull, a combination of magic burn and caffeine withdrawal. It feels like someone’s driven an iron spike through her forehead. “Migraines,” she explains through gritted teeth.

“Right.” He rings up her order, all the while casting concerned glances in her direction, as if he thinks she might start stabbing people if her headache gets any worse. He’s not wrong. “That’ll be sixty-one fourteen.”

 

 

21\. Oleander (200)

 

“Stay clear of the jars and don’t touch anything,” Oleander says as she drags Simon into her lab. “Not everything here has an antidote.”

She releases his arm and dons a pair of leather gloves, studying the rows of capsules arrayed along the walls. Simon massages his wrist, absently, then offers a handkerchief-covered palm as Oleander passes him a capsule filled with clear fluid. “And what does this one do?”

“Leaches the calcium from your bones. It takes months for the effects to show—most people don’t realize they’ve been poisoned until they break a hip bumping into a table.”

“Charming.” He wraps the handkerchief around the capsule and slips both into his coat’s inner pocket.

Oleander shrugs. “It’s what our employer wanted.”

“And you were happy to oblige, I’m sure.”

Oleander’s lips curl into a sensuous smirk; she glides closer, hips swaying in that hypnotic way they do when she wants him. “There’s no shame in enjoying your work, particularly when you’re as good at it as I am.” Her expression turns serious. “Be careful not to spill. That poison works through the skin.”

“I’ll handle it with the utmost care,” he says and leans in for a kiss.

 

 

22\. Technology

 

“ . . . and here’s the button you use when you want to send a text,” Raj says, tapping an icon at the bottom of the screen.

Tybalt frowns. “Is that like a letter?”

“Not . . . exactly. It’s more for when you want to talk to someone, but not directly.”

“Why wouldn’t I just call them?”

“Well, some people don’t like answering calls. Too much pressure. Look,” Raj insists before he can object, “you don’t have to text, but you should know how to use the app in case someone texts you.”

“App?”

Raj sighs. “Never mind.”


	9. Chapter 9

23\. Bystander (200)

 

The gentle flicker of the paper lanterns wavers as Lily skims her fingertips across the water’s surface; she sighs, then turns her attention to the family on the other side of the pond. Amandine sits primly at the water’s edge, eyes faraway. Her mortal husband sits beside her, wearing the soft, stricken look of a man bewitched. Amy’s daughter—Amy’s _changeling_ daughter—dips her hand into the water, laughing when one of the koi fish brushes her fingertips.

_Oh, Amy,_ _you must know this cannot last,_ Lily thinks. Playing faerie bride is one thing; having a child another. October will always belong to faerie, no matter how far Amandine twists her blood out of true (and Lily knows, can sense the subtle shifts in October’s blood every time the girl stumbles into her pond; she knows October is fighting the change. But this is something Amy doesn’t see, something she _refuses_ to see. Lily loves her, she does, but there’s a line between grief and willful blindness, and Amy crossed it years ago).

“Mama, look!” October jabs her finger at one of the koi fish. Amandine murmurs an encouragement, smiling that flawless smile, and Lily watches, and worries, and waits.

 

24\. Lessons

 

The punch hits Toby square in the jaw; she rolls with the impact, knees hitting the floor with bruising force, and slams an elbow into her opponent’s stomach. The boy, a Candela changeling named Tristan, crumples to the ground and heaves up a mouthful of bile.

“Nice recovery,” Devin comments. “But next time, don’t get punched.”

Toby grimaces and moves to stand. Devin doesn’t help her—why would he; it's not like she’s broken anything—but he does rest a hand on her shoulder in approval. Toby’s grimace sharpens into a grin.

“Now, then,” Devin says, “let’s try that again.”

 

25\. New Faces, New Names (300)

 

Mai wakes in the shadow of a dumpster. She opens her eyes, the muscles of her back twitching with the memory of wings, and looks down to find herself completely naked.

Wonderful.

She glances around and finds herself in an alley, concealed from prying eyes by a heap of garbage bags. The smell of spoiled milk and rotting banana peels permeates the air.

Mai—is she still Mai, or is she someone else? She’s worn countless faces over the centuries, but the memories behind those faces have faded to colorless scraps, dissolving like cobwebs in the rain. Toby is freshest in her mind, her memories granted not by death but by blood and sacrifice, but she can’t claim that name for herself. October isn’t dead (yet). Calling herself Dare feels equally wrong, albeit for different reasons. But she isn’t Mai anymore, or at least not the _same_ Mai.

Perhaps “May” instead? Yes, that’s much more fitting, full of springtime and flowers, joy and _life._ Sure, she only has a few weeks to live, but spring wasn’t meant to last forever, and she likes the shape of the name on her tongue. May. May Daye. Mayday. She laughs at the pun, then laughs again at the bright, bubbly feeling in her lungs. She knows _exactly_ who she is now: a creature of death transformed, a reflection reversed, Fetch to a woman who was once her hero.

Still giggling, she spins an illusory gown from the shadows of the alley, delighting in the scent of her magic: cotton candy and ashes, vibrant life and solemn decay. The illusion won’t withstand much scrutiny, but it will hold while she finds some real clothes, and then it’ll be off to Toby’s apartment to let her know it’s time to set her affairs in order.


	10. Chapter 10

26\. Truce (300)

 

“No, no, no.” Marcia rips the tablecloth away from the two dozen pixies trying to fly off with it. The checkered fabric tangles in her hands, sweeping a candelabra from the counter. As it hits the floor, one of the candles—unlit, thankfully—rolls out of sight.

Marcia glares at the pixies. “No,” she repeats, snapping the tablecloth like a sheet. “No more.”

The pixies’ wings buzz, a sound like angry hornets. One of them brandishes a sewing needle at her face. Without breaking eye contact, Marcia grabs her broom from its nook beside the icebox and points it at the flock.

“Are you . . . arguing with a pixie?” Dean asks from behind her.

“ _No_.” Heat rushes into Marcia’s cheeks. “Maybe.”

“Right.” Dean glances at the flock, frowning slightly. “Could we arrange a truce? Give them a weekly allowance of bread from our stores so they’ll stop stealing our tablecloths for their nests, or something?”

“A truce? But—but—” At his steady look, she deflates. “All right.” She turns to the pixies. “One loaf of bread, every week, and you don’t take anything without permission. Deal?”

The lead pixie vibrates louder, displeased.

“Fine. A loaf of bread _and_ a jar of jam.”

The pixies deliberate, clustering together in the air. After a moment, the lead pixie nods, and the flock disperses. Marcia lowers her broom and turns to Dean.

“My dad kept a colony of pixies before he moved to the Undersea,” he explains, mouth quirking into a smile. “Well. ‘Kept’ might be a strong word. It was more like he watched over them, and they kept him company, I guess? I don’t know. That was before I was born.”

“I’m just glad they won’t be causing any more trouble,” Marcia says, and sets her broom aside.

 

 

27\. Devotion

 

Etienne flings himself through his daughter’s portal, into a thicket of ice-crusted evergreens. Ahead, Chelsea stumbles to a stop, trembling. “D-Daddy . . .”

“It’s all right,” he says, holding out a hand.

The air around his daughter shimmers, her magic forcing open another portal. “Daddy, I can’t shut it off!”

She’s crying. Oberon help him, his daughter is crying, and all he can do is wait for her next jump and hope they end up in Dreamer’s Glass, where October is waiting with a jar of power-dampener.

The air around Chelsea twists. She falls into another realm.

Etienne follows.

 

28\. Knife

 

Dare’s knife hits the target with a _thunk_.

“Finally,” Manuel mutters. He crosses the room to pull the knife from the wood. “You know this thing isn’t balanced for throwing, right?”

“Shut up.” She snatches the knife from his hand and twirls it around her fingers—a practiced maneuver, one it took weeks to perfect, but the intimidation potential is worth it. Even with Devin watching over them, the streets aren’t kind to changelings; she’ll take any advantage she can find.

Besides, she likes feeling dangerous.

“Think you can hit the bull’s-eye?” Manuel asks.

Dare smirks. “You better believe it.”


	11. Chapter 11

29\. Fetch (200)

 

“Are you sure about this?” Arden asks, staring at the stick in her hand.

“Yep.” Madden’s head dips in a nod. “I looked at all the sticks we found, and that’s the best one.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Arden casts a furtive glance around the park. Their illusions will shield them from any passersby, and it’s late enough that most humans are safe at home anyway. But discovery isn’t what she’s worried about. She looks at Madden. “Doesn’t it _bother_ you, being treated like . . . ?”

“Like a dog?”

She nods.

Madden shrugs. “Nah. It’s fun. I get to run around and chase sticks. And you get to _throw_ them! Isn’t that exciting?”

Arden hesitates, her eyes dropping once more to the stick in her hands. “It just seems undignified.”

Madden laughs. “Arden, _relax_. I’m not some haughty Cait Sidhe—you’re not going to injure my pride here _._ Besides, you said if I covered your shift I’d get to decide where we’d go for our next outing, and I picked the park.”

“If you insist.” Arden lifts the stick above her head, waiting until Madden shifts into his canine form before flinging it through the air. “Fetch!”

 

 

30\. Promises (200)

 

Elliot closes the basement door with a soft _click_ and tiptoes down the stairs. Several figures lie on tables along the edges of the room, obscured beneath sheets, both for modesty and to keep off the dust.

Shuddering, Elliot makes his way to the third table from the stairs and peels back the sheet. Yui’s face looks serene, as if she’s sleeping instead of . . . Well. He pulls up a stool and sits beside her. “Sorry I haven’t come to visit lately,” he murmurs, and it feels so _wrong_ talking to her like this, except . . .

Except Li Quin has spent the last three years searching for a way to restore Yui and the others, and she thinks she’s found it. Elliot wants to believe she’s right, but hope is a complicated thing. Hope drags you forward without giving you the chance to let go, and sure, it will be worth it if it works.

But if it doesn’t? If he’s wasted all this time hoping only to find out that there is no fix? He doesn’t think he can survive that kind of heartbreak.

“I’ll see you again soon,” he promises. “One way or another.”

 

 

31\. Blooming

 

Three days pass before the first flowers begin to bloom. Acacia cradles the head of a delicate star-shaped blossom, lips parted with wonder.

It has been centuries since the last flowers died, centuries since the her youngest rose fled wearing the skin of a dying kitsune. Acacia didn’t think she would ever see another flower bloom in this land built on the bones of her husband’s victims. It will be centuries more before anything can truly flourish here, in this blood-soaked soil. But until then, she will look forward to the day her world is once more filled with roses.


	12. Chapter 12

32\. Feathers

 

“Huh,” Quentin says, plucking the feather from the carpet. “Jazz must be molting.”

“Cool,” Raj says, dismissively. “Are you going to hook up the DVD player or not?”

The feather is twice the length of Toby’s knife. Quentin spins it between his fingers.

Raj sits up, spine taut with attention. As Quentin gives the feather another twirl, his hand twitches toward it. “Aw, does kitty wanna play?” Quentin asks.

Raj throws him a disdainful look. “I’ll claw your eyes out.”

Quentin waves the feather enticingly. “Is that a yes?”

Raj’s glare wavers as the feather dances in Quentin’s hands. “Yes.”

 

 

33\. Wary (200)

 

October has been back from the pond for three weeks when Tybalt catches his first glimpse of her.

He’s heard the news, of course—San Francisco is a big city, but his subjects have keen ears. It would be stranger if he _hadn’t_ heard of her return, given that she’s the only changeling to be knighted in the Kingdom of the Mists in ages. But Tybalt has his court to tend to, so when he does run into her, it’s mostly by happenstance.

_Mostly_ is an important qualifier here. He could avoid her if he preferred, sink into the shadows and get on with his business. But there’s a saying about cats and curiosity, and he still has a few lives to spare, so why not? If nothing else, it will be amusing to toy with her.

But when she passes the alley where he’s lurking, he senses a subtle wrongness about her scent. He stills, wary.

Shapeshifting is a common trick in Faerie. Mimicry isn’t. If something else is wearing October’s skin, figuratively or otherwise, he needs to know before it can harm his court.

And if, in the end, he has to make a choice, so be it.

 

 

34\. Kidnapped

 

“Are you cold, little girl?” the golden-eyed woman asks, her voice like poisoned honey. “Or just afraid?”

Gillian’s wrists are already raw from chafing against the ropes; she strains harder, weeping.

The woman laughs. “It was cold where I went, too. Cold and dark and empty. But don’t worry. I won’t abandon you here—not like your mother did to me.”

Her mother? “I don’t understand.”

The golden-eyed woman bares her teeth. “She didn’t come for me, but she’s coming for you. And when she does . . .” Another laugh, uglier than the first. “Well. Won’t that be fun?”

 


	13. Chapter 13

35\. Barbara

 

“Oh,” Jan says as Elliot leads her into Barbara’s office. “Oh, oak and _ash_.”

Elliot’s eyes flit about the room, looking at everything except the body. A splotch of blood mars the carpet near Barbara’s wrist, but that’s all. No other evidence of injury, nothing to suggest this is anything worse than an enchanted slumber. “Could it be elfshot?”

“I don’t think so.” January crouches to check Barbara’s pulse. “People who’ve been elfshot still have a heartbeat. Barbara . . . doesn’t.”

“Oh,” he says faintly. “What should we do?”

January’s voice is grim. “We need to call my uncle.”

 

 

36\. A Hasty Departure

 

The suitcase shuts with a heavy thunk. The latch is Coblynau-make, enchanted to cast a don’t-look-here over whoever’s carrying the suitcase: one last treasure from Home, swiped from Devin’s office after the night-haunts finished with him.

Some people would call Bucer as a thief. He prefers to view himself as an opportunist. Sure, this job went sour, but Toby left him with both his ears, and it’s not the first time he’s had to make a hasty departure. He’s old hat at this by now.

By the time dawn rolls over California, he’s a hundred miles away and still running.

 

 

37\. Buried Memories (300)

 

Blood pumps syrup-thick through May’s veins as her life seeps away. “Toby, please, hold on, _please_.”

Toby’s only response is to convulse. May’s heart gives another fitful pulse. It will stop when Toby’s does, and then she’ll fade, as Fetches are meant to.

Then, suddenly, a river of rose goblins pours into the hall, Amandine at their head. May gapes. There are a thousand things she could shout in that moment, a thousand accusations of cruelty and neglect, but they stick in her throat as Amandine brushes Sylvester’s hands from Toby’s shoulder.

“What have you done to yourself now?” Judgment weaves through the words like steel wire. May would scream at her if she had the breath, but the air burns going down her throat, and her lungs are full of ashes.

Amandine lays a hand over Toby’s chest.

May’s heart gives one final pulse, then stills.

And then.

And then Toby screams, and suddenly the thread tying her life force to May’s snaps. May jerks, her strength rushing back as she stares at Amandine ( _Mother, Mama, Mom,_ her memories cry). Then her gaze drops to the shifting lines of Toby’s face.

May remembers nights tiptoeing into the gardens as Toby, curled up against dreams of her blood turning to fire in her veins. Amandine learned to be careful after the first few times, to keep the changes subtle and painless even as Toby struggled to unravel her work. Another year or two, and Toby would have been too weak to fight back.

Toby’s screams wither to silence. Amandine stands, skirts rustling like dead leaves as May and Sylvester rush forward to cradle Toby in their arms. “See that she doesn’t imperil herself again,” Amandine says, and then she’s gone, leaving the rest of them to deal with the aftermath.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay--I meant to post this a few days ago, but between the holidays and my birthday, I sort of got caught up in real life. Regular updates will resume in another week or so, probably. (Also, if anyone has any requests, I'm nearing the end of my backlog, so feel free to let me know if you wanted to see any particular character or moment--as long as it's reasonably canon compliant, I'm happy to post it here).

38\. At the Gala (300)

 

Toby smiles stiffly as they join the line outside the ballroom.

“Relax,” Devin whispers, amusement wending through his voice. “Remember, we were invited.”

Technically, the invitation was addressed to her (well, to “The Daughter of the Esteemed Amandine,” anyway, which is polite only in that condescending way purebloods usually are to their inferiors). But the invitation did specify a plus-one, and her agreement with Devin means he has first claim on her. She tries not to let that bother her, and is mostly successful. At least Devin never treats her like a pity date, the way her more prestigious partners sometimes did.

“Something wrong?”

“No. Maybe.” At Devin’s raised eyebrow, Toby sighs. “This is the first time I’ve been invited to a gala hosted outside of Shadowed Hills since . . .”

Since her mother stopped taking her to parties. Since her mother stopped pretending to care. Devin smirks and laces their fingers together in a perfect mimicry of the couple ahead of them. _Are_ they a couple now? Devin has made no demands of her, has taken only what she’s freely offered—in bed, at least; her obedience elsewhere is simply assumed. Does he want a relationship?

Does she?

They reach the front of the line before she can work out an answer. “Invitation?” the attendant asks, impatiently.

Devin hands it over. “I’m Devin. You can announce me as Miss Daye’s . . . companion.” His mouth curls into a smirk.

No last name. But the word _co_ _mpanion_ answers one question, even if it is presumptuous of Devin to claim the title without asking her. The attendant presents them to the ballroom, voice amplified by a charm on his collar.

“Chin up,” Devin orders as they join the party-goers. Something dark glints in his eyes. “We have a crowd to perform for.”

 

 

39\. Wrecking Ball

 

As Toby shuffles from the throne room, Lowri looks to Arden. “Your Majesty,” she says uncertainly, “are you sure this is wise? I mean, she’s not much of a diplomat.”

Arden hides a grimace. “No, you’re right. She’s the last person I’d send to arrange a treaty with the Silences.”

Confusion blooms on Lowri’s face. “Then why—”

“Because they elfshot Madden.” Anger flows like molten steel through the words. “I don’t want a treaty. I want King Rhys deposed.”

“You’re using October as a wrecking ball,” Lowri whispers, awed.

“A kingbreaker,” Arden corrects with a grim smile. “But yes.”

 

 

40\. Butterfly

 

The butterfly flits out of range just as Raj pounces. He twists in the air, claws splayed, but it’s too late: his prey has escaped.

“Perhaps you should try something less challenging,” Tybalt taunts, but gently—Raj is only a kitten, after all.

Raj ignores him, flinging himself up the side of an oak to make another leap at his quarry. He fumbles the jump, and Tybalt has to suppress a wince at the thud Raj makes on impact with the ground. He could step in, he knows. It would be a kindness. But some lessons must be learned firsthand.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one drabble this week, but it's another long one (What can I say--when you're playing with a character like the Luidaeg, you can't help but shine the spotlight on them once in a while). Enjoy!

41\. Loyalty (500)

 

Luna's advice rings in Quentin's ears. _Be polite. Offer no falsehoods. Accept whatever price she asks, and if you can't pay it, run._ “All right,” he murmurs as he approaches the door. “Let’s do this.”

It helps to remind himself that Toby visits the Luidaeg every week and still has all her internal organs (so far as he knows, anyway). He knocks, and the door swings open, hitting the wall with a sharp _crack_. “What?” demands a voice like waves crashing against the shore.

The Luidaeg doesn’t look like he expected. One, she has no claws, and her teeth are as blunt as a human’s, and two, she looks barely old enough to buy cigarettes, let alone drink. Quentin hesitates, wondering if he has the right house. “Are you the Luidaeg?”

The woman’s eyebrows slant. “Who’s asking?”

“Um, my name’s Quentin. I’m a friend of Toby’s?”

Those are the magic words, apparently: the irritation drains out of her face, replaced by speculation. She steps out of the doorway. “Come in, then.”

The carpet squelches under his feet as he enters. He notes the water stains streaking the walls, the mold clinging to the furniture, the diseased air of the house, then focuses on the Luidaeg’s face (and she must be the Luidaeg. Toby hasn’t told him much about her, but she _has_ mentioned the state of her home, and the stench of rotting fish is unmistakable).

“I’m here for Toby,” Quentin says with as much conviction as he can manage. It isn’t much. He’s a little overwhelmed at the moment.

“And you think I have her?” The Luidaeg’s mouth curls into a razor-thin smile.

“No,” he says, and he can see he’s surprised her. “Luna said she was going after the missing children.” _After Katie,_ adds his guilty conscience. “I want to help.”

The Luidaeg snorts. “My help doesn’t come cheap. If you want a chance to save her, you’ll have to pay.”

“I know.” He drops his gaze and waits, hands folded in front of his body.

After a long moment, the Luidaeg inclines her head. “I can get you to Blind Michael’s lands. But once you’re there, you’ll have to find Toby yourself. And you won’t be able to come back without her,” she adds, a vicious undercurrent to her voice. “There are ways out of my brother’s realm—there’s no sport to it if his captives can’t escape—but they’ll be barred to you unless you’re with Toby. As for what happens if you’re caught . . .”

Quentin gulps. “That’s your price? Come back with Toby, or don’t come back at all?”

“Got it in one, kiddo.” The Luidaeg smirks. “I’ll even promise not to kill you when you come back.”

_If you come back,_ she doesn’t say, but Quentin hears it anyway. He closes his eyes. Toby would be horrified to know he’s considering this, but if he were the one in danger, she wouldn’t hesitate to follow. He meets the Luidaeg’s eyes. “I accept.”


End file.
